The Time of Our Lives
by a-fully-realized-creation
Summary: A mishap with a Time Turner leaves Draco and Hermione stranded in a different era with only each other to rely on to find a way home. Along the way, they discover a dark secret in the past that threatens not only the future of Hogwarts but the future of their own blossoming relationship. Rating may change to M, depending on the path of the story. Updated weekly!
1. Prologue: The Beginning

A/N: I posted this years ago under an old pen name that I no longer want to use. I never got past the prologue before, but lately I've been inspired to write again, so I'm re-writing it all here. This story will deal with Time-Turners, but I'll be ignoring much of the information on Time Turners that JK Rowling released on Pottermore after the books were finished.

* * *

In this very moment, Hermione did not much feel like a Gryffindor.

"Password," the stone gargoyle asked. Hermione's trembling hands searched the fabric of her black uniform skirt pockets until one grasped the thin slip of parchment tucked inside.

"S-sugar quills," she stammered. The gargoyle nodded and the bricks of the stone wall slid to the side, revealing a twisting, spiral staircase Her legs were jelly underneath her and she was forced to place a hand on the wall as she stepped onto the first stair. The staircase began to twist up and up and up until Hermione was faced to face with a large wooden door. Her heart pounded an incessant rhythm in her chest and she raised her hand to knock.

A voice from behind the door stopped her just as her knuckles were about to graze the smooth oak.

"Come in, Miss Granger."

The door swung open of its own means. Dumbledore was seated at his desk, bright blue eyes sparkling from behind half-moon spectacles. Hermione would not - or _could not_ \- hold his gaze. She hesitated, her feet all but glued to the cool stone beneath her.

"Please," Dumbledore said, motioning a hand to the plush violet chair in front of him.

Hermione knew that she could not put this off any longer. She took a steadying breath and took a seat in the chair.

"Now," Dumbledore said. He folded his hands together atop the desk. "I'm sure you know why you're here."

"M-Magical Misdemeanor. A Category Five infraction of the Misuse of Magical Objects Act of 1393," Hermione recited faithfully. She quickly added, "But I didn't mean for it to happen. I was only trying to help him!"

Dumbledore chuckled and she finally looked up. A smile hinted behind the snowy beard of the headmaster.

"It is not me you must convince," he said. "Alas, the Ministry is not so easily swayed. I have employed a favor with Hecuba Highchurch in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to delay your sentencing until a complete and _impartial_ investigation can be completed. Your full deposition will be taken into account."

Dumbledore produced a small vial of clear liquid from within his robes.

Veritaserum.

Truth potion.

He tapped his wand on a tea cup and the porcelain filled with milky black tea, steam rising from the top of its rippling surface. He pulled the stopper from the vial and poured a splash of the truth serum into the cup. He nudged the cup and saucer towards her.

Dumbledore then flicked his wand towards quill resting atop a thick, bound notebook. The quill dipped itself in ink and poised its point above a clean sheet of parchment. Silence blanketed the room. Hermione fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, gnawing at the delicate skin inside her bottom lip.

"You may begin at any time," Dumbledore said. "We have no rush."

Hermione took a deep breath and firmed her resolve. She thought back to the first time she ever truly saw _him_. She tried to remember the feeling of his body beside hers, toes digging into the cool grass in the warmth of the afternoon sun. She tried to remember how it felt to be close to him like this - really _close_ to him - and to know him in a way that no one else did. She remembered how it felt to feel stronger, more courageous in his presence.

Hermione summoned every ounce of that strength now. She took the cup of tea in her hands and drank a long, deep sip.

"I'm ready."

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Thanks for reading! The prologue was short, but I promise there's a lot more coming.

Reviews are always appreciated.


	2. Chapter 1: The Accident

A/N: A quick note about this story: it takes place in an alternate universe where Dumbledore survives. The Battle of Hogwarts still happened, Voldemort was still defeated, but Dumbledore lived. He was still disarmed by Draco, who was later disarmed by Harry so he could still defeat Voldemort, so all of that lore still stands. But, what Dumbledore did instead of hiding is mentioned in the story. Just as a heads up, that's the only AU bit of this fiction. Enjoy!

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Draco Malfoy could not sleep.

Maybe it was because the room was too warm; or maybe it was because of Crabbe's snoring; or maybe it was because he couldn't get his swirling thoughts to just shut the hell up.

Draco figured that it didn't matter why he was awake at - he peered over at the clock on the far wall of the dormitory - three in the morning. He was awake. And there was very little he could do to change that.

He rubbed his face in exhaustion and yanked the covers off of himself, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The night was abnormally warm for late September, but the stone floors of the Slytherin dungeons felt cool against his bare feet. Draco pushed his white-blonde hair off of his forehead, which was sticky with sweat.

He needed to walk. Fresh air would do him good.

Draco slipped on socks and his pair of pristine black and grey trainers. He rummaged around as quiet as he could in the chest at the end of his bed and yanked a dark navy t-shirt over his head. He plucked his wand out from underneath his satin pillowcases, where he slept with it every night.

Crabbe was still snoring loudly, his chainsaw-like noises barely stifled under the _Muffliato_ charm his friend cast every night before bed, when Draco slipped out of the seventh year boys dormitory and into the Slytherin common room. As he expected, he was the only one awake.

The common room was empty and dark, the only light coming from the barely-burning coals of the fire at the front of the room. The cool, grey stone walls absorbed the light into itself and left the edges of the room nearly pitch black. When he was a fourth year, Draco used to love staying up until the wee hours of the morning after everyone had gone to bed. He loved the silence of it. He loved the darkness. He also loved scaring the living daylights out of any unsuspecting first year who might wander out to go to the bathroom.

But, mostly he had loved being alone.

After the Battle of Hogwarts last year, that all changed. He hadn't been convicted as a Death Eater because, well, he wasn't one. He never got the Dark Mark. The Ministry let him off on probation with restricted magic access and his promise to finish out his schooling under the watchful eyes of the newly-reinstated Headmaster Dumbledore with the rest of the seventh years whose education had been cut short by the Battle. Although everyone had believed Dumbledore dead, he emerged from hiding after the battle. He had disguised himself as a Muggle postman in Surrey using polyjuice potion and resumed his role as Headmaster of Hogwarts shortly after.

Draco's parents had not been so lucky.

Nobody outside of his House talked to Draco now, and even some of the Slytherins avoided him. Draco found that when he was almost always alone, he didn't love it quite so much anymore.

He opened the door leading out to the hallway and snuck into the main halls of Hogwarts castle. After all the sneaking out he did during his sixth year, he knew how to creep around the castle undetected.

The halls looked nearly the same as they had before the Battle. Some of the portraits were missing - destroyed during the Battle or torn down from the walls during Snape's rein as Headmaster - but the castle itself seemed as though it had never seen a moment of war. There were a few scrapes or pebble-sized chunks of stone missing from the wall in some places. Draco thought those might have been left as a reminder; it was as if they were some piece of the castle itself whispering: "I have not forgotten what happened here." More than likely, the spots were probably just overlooked in the frantic reconstruction, the desperation for everything to return to normal.

Draco slipped through the castle unseen, though he was nearly caught by Filch as he rounded a corner of a hallway leading just outside of one of the back doors. He slithered back into the shadows until Filch's footsteps disappeared down the corridor in the other direction.

The fresh night air felt good on Draco's face when he finally found his way outside the walls of the castle. The moon was out tonight and though it was not quite full, it cast silvery light onto the soft earth beneath his feet. He tucked himself into the shadows as he walked to avoid any prying eyes that might spot him through a high tower window. Though, it was so late it was unlikely that even the Prefects were still awake; they often fell asleep during their duties, especially on quiet nights like this. He knew. He had been one, once.

Draco decided that slinking around in the shadows was silly. He stepped out into the moonlight as he meandered the grounds. He paused when he reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He stared up at the luminescent moon. A breeze blew by, chilling the warm air and making gooseflesh pop up along Draco's arms. He rubbed his arms with his hands, his fingers lingering along the thin, nearly invisible and intangible lines that circled his pale forearms in neat, criss-crossing rings. His heart leapt into his throat, the way it did every time he remembered the scars. He looked down at his arms and at the faint silvery, raised skin.

In the corner of his vision he noticed something at the edge of the forest. Light caught a glint of gold on the ground. No, _in_ the ground. Something was buried beneath the treeline, next to the roots of a massive, gnarled tree. Draco stepped closer and crouched to examine it. He brushed away the dirt around it, revealing gold and glass. He dug his fingers into the earth, prying away more dirt and uncovering the small object. When he was finished, he held a small golden hourglass in his hand.

It was a curious little thing, and quite old by the looks of it. The gold capping the top of the hourglass was burnished and dark, with etchings in a language Draco couldn't read circling the rim. A sizable crack ran down the side of the glass and many of the grains of sand had spilled out when he picked it up. The hourglass was strung up with a long, kinked, and broken gold chain, which pooled in his hand.

"You aren't supposed to be out of the castle!" A shrill voice from behind startled him and he nearly dropped the small hourglass. He groaned internally as he stood up and turned around. He would recognize that voice anywhere.

Hermione Granger's Head Girl badge glinted in the moonlight as she held her wand aloft towards him. She was in her Gryffindor robes and uniform, but her tie was loose and unknotted around her neck. There were dark bags underneath her eyes, made more prominent by the clear moonlight. He noted that the looked too heavy to be from just one night of missed sleep being on duty.

Draco put his hands up without resistance, the hourglass still between the fingers of his right hand, "You caught me, Granger."

Her eyes narrowed.

"What have you got in your hand?" she asked, suspicion lacing her voice. She approached him slowly until she was only a few steps away from him.

"This old thing?" He flashed the hourglass so that it was more visible in the moonlight, "It's none of your business, Mudblood."

Granger gasped and Draco smirked. But, he quickly realized that the gasp had not been earned by his insult. Instead, Granger's eyes were fixated on the small hourglass, which was once again hemorrhaging sand from the large crack.

"Put. That. Down." Granger all but whispered.

"I don't think I will," Draco sneered.

Granger stepped towards him and reached out her hand, "Give it to me. You shouldn't have one of those. They were all destroyed."

And then it dawned on him. It was a Time-Turner. A very broken Time-Turner by the looks of it, but from where she was, she probably couldn't see that the damn thing didn't work anymore.

Draco's lips twitched into an a cold, wry smile. This would be fun.

He spun the hourglass around in his hand, turning it over and over and over as sand began to spill out of it at an alarming rate.

"Stop!" Granger cried, leaping towards him. She outstretched her hand so that her fingers formed a loose grasp around the middle of the glass. He still had hold of it when he felt a strange, tingling sensation move from the fingers in contact with the gold and glass and spread up his arms. The sensation moved throughout his body as the world around him began to spin backwards. In a matter of seconds, the moon above them quickly traced a backwards path through the night sky until daylight peaked over the horizon.

Granger's eyes widened. She yanked the hourglass from his grasp, but he fought her strength. The hourglass slipped from between both of their fingers. As if in slow motion, Draco watched it spin and tumble towards the ground. Granger reached for the necklace, but her fingers grasped only air.

When it finally hit the earth, the hourglass shattered and Draco's world went dark.

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Another big thanks for taking the time to read my lil' ol' fanfic. I'm really enjoying getting back into writing, so expect more soon.


	3. Chapter 2: The Castle

A/N: This will probably be the last time I update this week. I'll be moving to a weekly schedule as I continue to develop this story. Follow if you'd like to stay up to date on this adventure!

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The first thing Hermione did when she finally came to was vomit. On her hands and knees, her stomach heaved its contents onto the lush green grass beneath her until the entirety of her dinner was on display for the world to see. She collapsed back onto the grass, careful to move away from the puddle of her sick. Her muscles ached and she struggled to catch her breath.

Hermione heard a groan come from beside her. And then, dry heaving.

Against her better judgement, Hermione slowly forced herself to sit up. Her head pounded and she felt as though she might be sick again. She closed her eyes and put her head between her knees, taking deep breaths.

Malfoy had gone silent, finally finished retching.

"Where," he panted, "are we?"

Hermione lifted herself fully upright with care. Though her head swum, when she surveyed her surroundings she recognized where they were. Or, at least she thought she did? It was like being in a dream; she knew in her heart where she was, but the visuals didn't quite line up in the way that they were supposed to.

They were at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, but the forest was thinner, the trees leaner and shorter. Dappled sunlight filtered through their leaves in places where thick swaths of shadow should have been. Hagrid's hut was missing, along with the Whomping Willow, both of which had been in sight when Hermione spotted a student wandering the grounds out of bed. Hermione turned her head. The castle was there and so was the Black Lake, but where was the Quidditch pitch? Where were the greenhouses?

This was all wrong.

"I think we're still at Hogwarts," Hermione finally said. She turned towards Malfoy, whose face was smeared with dirt. He was still heaving, trying to catch his breath.

"The better question," she continued when he didn't respond, "Is _when_ are we?"

Malfoy gaped at her, "You've gone mad."

Lava bubbled in Hermione's veins.

"I told you not to play with that thing!" Hermione snapped. Her voice reached a shrill tone often reserved only for when Ron and Harry did something particularly idiotic, like sneaking Bursting Bombs into Potions to get out of an exam.

 _The Time-Turner_ , she realized with a start, _where is it?_

Ignoring her protesting muscles and throbbing head, she stood up. She staggered as she searched the ground for the hourglass. Her hair was wild and untamed, flying into her face as a chill wind picked up around them. She swatted it away with both hands as she frantically scanned the grass until her eyes caught on a small glinting piece of gold. It was planted firmly in her puddle of sick, surrounded by tiny shards of glass that confirmed her suspicions: the Time-Turner was shattered. Completely, and utterly broken.

She had her wand in her hand and had screeched, " _Reparo_ " before she even had time to think. Rather than mending itself back together, the pieces of the Time-Turner stayed exactly where they were lodged in her sick. She had known it wouldn't work. She had spent enough time researching time magic her third year to have a firm handle on the basics. The magic in a time turner was categorically unstable. Therefore, a Time-Turner could only be created or destroyed. They could never be mended. A panic rose up in her throat. Hermione's knees gave out from underneath her and she stumbled to the ground. She choked back a burbling, hysterical sob.

Draco was watching her, she was sure of it. Probably enjoying her pain and panic, knowing him.

 _The snake_ , she thought harshly.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, staring at the broken pieces in front of her. It could have been centuries or seconds. Eventually, she heard a groan and staggering footsteps. She felt a presence come closer to her. A thin, pale hand reached out towards her in front of her face. She looked up. Malfoy wasn't looking at her and he didn't speak. Hermione took a shaking breath and ignored the hand offering help. She stood on her own. Malfoy retracted his hand and slipped it into the pocket of his tapered and now grass-stained grey track pants. They stood next to each other, staring up the hill towards the castle.

"We'll just find another Time-Turner," Malfoy said, breaking the thick layer of silence that had settled over them.

Hermione scoffed, "You really don't know anything, do you?"

She didn't bother to register the emotions that crossed Malfoy's face as she pressed on, "Time-Turners are incredibly complicated and dangerous magic. They only go backwards. According to Professor Croaker's Law, the longest period of time that a witch or wizard can travel back without serious harm to themselves is five hours, and by the look of things," Hermione motioned to the spot where Hagrid's hut should have been just down the hill, "we've gone back _a lot_ farther than that."

"Serious harm?" Malfoy's brow knitted in confusion.

Hermione shook her head in utter disbelief. Was she the only one who had read Saul Croakers _The Wizard's Law of Nature and Time_?

"The last known witch to travel more than five hours back in time was Eloise Mintumble. She was sent to the year 1402 and when she finally made it back to her present time five days later, she had aged five hundred years and died in St. Mungo's within a week. And she had an _active Time-Turner._ Which ours is very much not. Who knows when - or even if! - we'll get back to our time."

Malfoy was quiet for a long moment. Hermione was almost sure he had turned to stone until she looked at him. He had crossed his arms and one of his left fingers rhythmically grazed back and forth across a spot on his right arm. His white-blonde hair fluttered in front of his eyes in the wind while he stared up at the castle looming in the horizon, unflinching. The sunrise was peeking out from over the top of the hills, warming the air and casting shadows across the castle. For a moment, Hermione thought he looked almost relieved

"So, we're stuck here," he finally said.

"We're stuck here," she confirmed, "Whenever 'here' is."

He unwound his hands from across his chest, and motioned towards the castle, "Guess we better go and find out."

* * *

They did not talk while they made the trek up the hill towards the great stone school, and Hermione was glad of it. She needed time to think and time to calm down. Her fingers shook and as the familiar outline of the castle loomed nearer. Memories flashed into her vision.

 _Not here_ , she thought. Her heart sank as her mind persisted on, against her will.

The astronomy crumbling down. Screams. Shouts. Flashes of green and blue and red flung from wands, bouncing off of crumbled stone and shattered glass and flesh. The smell of burning hair. Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She stopped walking and squeezed her eyes shut.

 _Count backwards_ , she thought, _Just like Julianne told you. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…_

She took a deep breath and pushed everything away. Hermione opened her eyes and Malfoy was a few paces ahead, staring back at her. The color drained from her face, but thank Merlin, he didn't say anything. As soon as she took her first step, he turned back towards the castle and continued to walk.

Hermione thought things had been getting better with her. She resolved to keep working on them. She wouldn't let this hold her back. Not now. Not here. She had more important things to worry about.

The quiet of the castle was nearly deafening. Hermione wasn't sure she had ever heard it so silent. Even on her patrols late into the night as a prefect or Head Girl, there was sound everywhere: portraits snoring, Filch's clacking footsteps, Peeve's laughter echoing from somewhere deep within the recesses of the halls. But right now, the only sound was her own breathing and the soft tread of their shoes on the cool marble floors just inside the front doors. The doors had been left ajar so she and Malfoy were able to easily enter the stone building.

"Hello?" Hermione called out. There was no answer. She paused, brow knitting together in confusion. This was all too strange. Where were the students? The teachers? Anyone?

"I need to get to the library," she decided.

Malfoy snorted, "Of course you do."

She shot him a piercing glance, and explained slowly, as though to a child, "We need to know where we are. _When_ we are. A library has books and newspapers and magazines, all of which have dates. Or, " She pointed to the unenchanted stone gargoyle propped up against the wall to their left, "would you rather ask him."

Malfoy shrugged, his hands still shoved deep into the pockets of his track pants. When she began climbing the stone staircases he followed wordlessly behind her.

The lack of insults was startling, more so than the lack of talking. Hermione had never been in Malfoy's company for more than five minutes without a snide comment, thinly veiled insult, or - most commonly - a slur about her blood-purity. She wouldn't complain, of course, but she also couldn't help but think it strange. Malfoy seemed different. Off. And, she wasn't entirely sure that it was all to do with their current predicament.

They reached the doors to the library in record time; Hermione knew all of the fastest staircases and shortcuts, and without students to block her way with their snogging or giggling or gossiping in the corridors, she moved at breakneck speed.

She grabbed the familiar wrought iron double door handles and yanked them open far enough to accommodate her body, her heart settling back somewhere near a normal place. She slipped into the dark room, Malfoy trailing behind her. The sunlight had not yet breached the library's windows, so only a faint periwinkle haze lit the room. She took a deep breath and felt a sense of ease settle into her bones. This library was hers. She knew every inch of it better than she knew her own childhood home.

" _Lumos,"_ she heard Malfoy cast quietly from behind her. A gentle glow filled her vision and her eyes tried to adjust to the new light source. She peered out over the room in front of her in this new light.

This was not her library.

In fact, there wasn't a library in this room at all.

Through the gentle, but steadily growing soft light filtering through the massive windows and the help of Malfoy's spell, Hermione could make out the features of the room. Or, lack thereof. There were no rows upon rows of shelves filled with dusty, familiar hardback volumes towering above her. There were no lamps or tables or check-out counters. No plush chairs. No couches. Instead, the room was a massive, nearly empty space save for an ornately crafted grey and white marble floor and an enormous crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Her library was a bloody _ballroom_?

Malfoy chuckled, a low and taunting sound. He didn't speak, but Hermione received the message loud and clear. Hermione was sure that steam was pouring from her ears as she turned to face him. Just as she opened her mouth and raised her pointer finger, she and Malfoy were startled by the sound of a booming laugh from just outside the library - no _ballroom_ \- doors. Hermione fell silent and listened.

"I think this place is almost ready!" a brash and full-bellied voice said. By the decibel, Hermione assumed the voice belonged to the same owner as the laugh.

"We've not even found _teachers_ yet," a lilting, feminine voice chided from down the hall, "We can't open a school without teachers."

Hermione tip-toed towards the door as silently as she could, not knowing if these people would mean them harm or not. She cracked the door of the library slowly, carefully, and just wide enough for her to glimpse the figure who the laugh belonged to. Even in this dim light and even with her limited visibility, she would recognize him anywhere. His portrait hung above the entrance to Hermione's common room for seven years. The ruby-encrusted hilt of the sword at his hip had saved all of their lives just a few short months ago.

Alive and in the flesh, standing before her was Godric Gryffindor.

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A/N: As always, thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated. See you next week with a new installment :)


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